Octupus and Scrabble
by somedayangeline
Summary: What if Desi Collings kept a record of the Amy case?
1. Chapter 1

_The Day of,_

"I never liked that girl, Desi."

I expected this. Those very words. But expecting them and hearing them are two different things.

"After what Amy did to you..."

I put down my fork, appetite now completely gone

"Mother, that's not a very charitable thing to say about a missing woman. Besides that was years ago."

My mother has never liked Amy Elliott, now Dunne, who has just been reported missing. It's the day of her fifth anniversary, and so far, rumor has it that it looks like she was either killed or kidnapped.

"Of course, this whole thing is a tragedy," she amends. "That poor girl."

She's not too convincing, but maybe she does realize that I really don't want to talk about Amy. At least not right now.

As we're leaving the restaurant, I overhear a couple at the bar discussing that very topic.

"Can you imagine...on your _anniversary..."  
><em>

And that's the moment where it really sinks in. Amy is gone. Up until now, I haven't really processed it, I guess, but now it hits me. She's either dead or in danger. I'm almost not sure which is worse to believe.

"You look pale, Desi," she says, as we cross the parking lot. "Was there something wrong with your meal?"

"Maybe," I say. "I do feel kind of queasy."

We both pretend this isn't about Amy.

We're good at pretending.

Somehow I get through the rest of the day. It's not every day, your ex-girlfriend goes missing. There's nothing I can do to help. Sometimes I manage to forget for a little while, and then it comes back and I feel sick. I go online, which I know ahead of time is a huge mistake, but it doesn't stop me from staying on and sifting through the latest news anyway.

Around quarter of nine that night, the phone rings. It's Mother. Dreading what's coming, I answer anyway.

"So apparently, Amy's still missing," she says in lieu of hello.

"I know, I saw the news."

"If you ask me, it's the husband who did it. It seems he did a very sloppy job of cleaning up after himself."

"That seems to be the public's verdict. I just hope the police can find whoever's responsible."

"Where were you last night?"

"Home. Why?" _You know my schedule as well as I do. Probably better._

"You're going to need an alibi."

"That's ridiculous."

But she goes on. "If anyone asks, tell them that you were with me. I'll tell them the same, of course. We need to get our story straight."

"But why? I haven't done anything wrong. The last time I saw her, I was eighteen."

"Of course, but I was thinking, what if they talk to Amy's parents and they paint you as some kind of disturbed stalker?"

"That was years ago. Besides, we were kids. It was all just a misunderstanding."

"She had you wrapped around her little finger. I never did understand that."

_As if that's a crime._

My head is swirling and my patience starting to fray. Any more of this, and I'll say something I'll regret and have to deal with the fallout tomorrow.

"Look, I appreciate your concern, but I've had a very difficult day, and right now I'm exhausted. I think I'll start getting ready for bed."

"But Desi..."

"Goodnight, Mother."

I put the phone down and stare into the fireplace. Everything about this day so far seems surreal. Since I heard the news, I feel like I'm in a dream. (Of course, that's nothing compared to the nightmare Amy must be going through.)

I realize how little I actually know about the law. Like a lot of people, my main knowledge is gleaned from how it's portrayed in pop culture. In shows like "Law and Order," suspects act one of three ways. Either they are incredibly hostile and tight-lipped, or they go the opposite route and are overly helpful. Or they lawyer up, which is always a neon sign that they are hiding something.

But that's TV. In real life, it's just smart.

So the question is - Do I need a lawyer?

Is that the kind of thing only someone who's guilty would think?

Right now, I can't decide what to do and what to say to who, if I'm asked about such-and-such.

I should at least write everything down, just in case I need it for future reference. Especially, if the law gets involved. Even the innocent can be made to appear guilty. The truth can so easily be twisted.

Amy taught me that...

_What about the letters?_

No, she told me that she never showed them to Nick. She told me that he was obsessive and controlling and wouldn't be happy if he knew.

But there's nothing = incriminating in them, if the police should find them. I think. Did I ever hint that she should get a divorce? I don't think so. Not that I wasn't tempted. She never said anything to me about leaving Nick. Maybe she had other friends she confided in.

I should just go to sleep and deal with all this in the morning. It's not like staying up and agonizing is going to help. So I go upstairs, find an old Xanax prescription and take two. Still I worry that I'm destined for a sleepless night, full of agonizing about Amy, visions of her battered and tied up, or worse, dead, endlessly revolving in my head.

It does the trick, though.


	2. Chapter 2

It's been three days since Amy's disappearance, and her husband is now the most hated man in America. Everyone seems convinced that he murdered his wife, then attempted to cover it up by disguising it as a kidnapping.

It's bizarre to realize that someone who you've disliked for purely petty personal reasons is actually a monster and now just about everyone you talk to feels the same way. Nothing Amy ever told me about Nick made me think that he was the kind of guy to actually murder someone. I wonder if she threatened to leave him and that was what triggered it.

She mentioned a couple of times in her letters that every anniversary, she sets up a sort of treasure hunt for Nick with paper clues. She did it this time, too. The police are trying to track them all down, hoping to figure out where she is.

Yesterday, I received a call yesterday from the detectives on the case. In a way it was a relief, not having to wonder any longer if they'd contact me. Which is how I wound up being escorted into this dingy, windowless room by an official looking woman. Being here already makes me feel bizarrely guilty, but it's too late to back out now.

"Mr. Collings, I'm Detective Officer Boney and this is my partner, Officer Gilprin. We just want to ask you a few questions about your relationship with Amy Elliott."

_Is this how they treated Nick_? _"_Of course. If you think that will help find Amy."

_Great. I'm already groveling._

They ask me the warm-up questions first - where I live, what I do for a living. I try to act as normal as possible, but part of me is braced for what I know is coming. Which it does soon enough.

"When we spoke with the Elliotts, they told us that you knew Amy at boarding school?"

"That's right."

"I thought Amy attended an all-girls' school"

"Mine was nearby."

The male detective - Gilprin - sort of smirks, and I wonder if he's thinking something along the lines of _it must be nice to be rich_. Or maybe I'm just overly anxious and reading too much into this. I look away and force myself to focus.

"And you dated?"

"Right."

"For how long?"

"Um," I pretend to remember. "Six or seven months."

_Here it comes_

"Sounds pretty serious - you probably met her parents then?"

"A couple of times. I remember being nervous because they were - are - these best-selling famous authors."

I wait to see if they will buy that, and it seems to be enough. Telling them the real reason why I didn't hit it off with the Elliotts - or more accurately - just Mr. Elliott is not something I want to get into.

"How did Amy get along with her parents back then?"

I try not to flinch. Amy and her father is not a subject I'm prepared to discuss with the detectives (or anyone, after all, I did promise not to tell), and if I did, it would make this whole investigation even uglier

"Well, sometimes, I think, she felt that they didn't really know who she was. Because of how they portrayed her in all those books." I stop, reminding myself that they aren't interested in a detailed analysis of this. They're just asking for generalities.

"Would you characterize Amy's relationship with her parents as troubled?"

I don't want to dump all the blame on the Elliotts - no matter what they did, it's impossible to picture them engineering the kidnapping of their daughter. But I just say, "Possibly."

"So why did you two split up?"

The real answer to this is that I still don't really know. First it was perfect, and then, slowly, it stopped being perfect. We started arguing - not all the time, but gradually, it started to feel that way. (Amy could probably put this much better than I could - she's the writer.) Our last fight was completely trivial - at least to me - over my not being allowed to visit her over break, but it ended with me moping around my home and Amy at hers, apparently concocting a plan to make me sorry. Which she did.

Tamping down that memory, I give the detectives a vague answer which fortunately, seems to satisfy them. So far no one has uttered the S-word (stalking), and I'm starting to hope that it's not going to come up.

_Sure focusing on that period in my life doesn't exactly put me in the most flattering_ light, I think, as there's a lull in the interrogation. _ Maybe I was too needy, easily manipulated and maybe I was a less-than-perfect boyfriend. But that doesn't make me a kidnapper or a killer. I don't need you to absolve me because I haven't committed any crimes._

Then they lob the real question - asking me where I was the night of Amy's disappearance and if there's anyone who can "vouch for my whereabouts," which sounds like a line straight from _Law and Order_.

I give them the prepared answer and then wait. Silence builds, and I wonder how soon it takes for them to typically check these things out.

I'm tempted to ask the detectives if they have any leads, but instantly realize how absurd that would be - like they would give me anything other than a noncommittal answer, particularly to someone who's apparently had as little contact with Amy through the years as I have. I glance at my watch - it's been almost an hour, though it feels like I've been trapped in this room forever.

"Is there anything else you'd like to know?" I say instead, hoping that having given them the alibi, they don't need anything else.

The woman detective finishes making notes. "No, that's all, Mr. Collings. You're free to go. Thank you for your time."

When I get back to the car, I start feeling shaky though that's ridiculous, since it's over, and the odds are good that I won't have to go back there. But I still feel unsettled.

That night, my phone rings. Bracing myself for interrogation number two, I answer.

"You sound just awful, darling," Mother says.

"Well, it's been a very bizarre day."

"So how did it go this morning? Did you talk to the detective?"

Again, the feeling that this isn't real, just some nightmare that I can't manage to wake up from, sweeps over me. "Detectives. There were two. They asked me pretty routine stuff. Mostly about when I was dating Amy. They asked for an alibi, too. Did they call you yet?"

"That woman detective did. I wanted to tell her that she was wasting her time, but I was very polite. Then after I hung up, I went and did what we should have done a lot sooner."

I know where this is going. "You mean, you found a lawyer."

"Just in case. I emailed you his information. From now on, if anyone wants to talk to you, make sure he's there, too, all right?"

"Sure. Thanks." _That's what people like us do,_ I think, _pay others to make our problems disappear, or at least act as a buffer. But at this point, that's exactly what I need._

After I say goodbye, I try to focus on the fact that I'm probably not even close to being a genuine suspect in this case, that the detectives have already filed me away in their mental file of those who are distantly related but not worth pursuing further. And I'm not alone. The detectives will eventually find out the truth, and Nick will go to prison. Who else could have done it but him?

Still, somehow, I feel like things are only going to get worse.


	3. Chapter 3

_An unexpected visitor _

I can't begin this by noting what day it is, because I've lost track. Which is just another in a string of failures lately for me - since this nightmare began, I've had trouble eating, sleeping and concentrating, just to name a few things. When the weekend arrives, I'm looking forward to a chance to relax - not right away, but eventually, later in the afternoon when everything's accomplished. But then something happens to turn everything upside down.

"It looks like you have a visitor, Desi," Mother says from upstairs, and I go to join her.

"The detectives?" I say, trying not to panic, because who else would show up here like this unannounced and uninvited.

"No, it's Nick Dunne. Did you know he was coming over?" The last, like it's a serious possibility.

"You're joking right." Nick's timing is superb - if he'd come much later, both of us would have left to start our day already. (Or has he been spying on me?)

"I didn't think so. Oh, and it looks like he got all dressed up," Mother coos.

The thought of Nick Dunne standing before his wardrobe choosing an outfit before he drives over - and the fact that Mother is spying on him and dissecting him before he's even rung the doorbell makes me feel like I'm going on a date, and I struggle not to burst out laughing.

"Is this going to be too awkward for you, Desi? I can go down and send him away, if you want."

It occurs to me that actually inviting a man who may very well have murdered his wife is not the brightest idea, but I can't help it. He's standing on my doorstep. Here's a chance to finally get some answers.

"No. I'll go see what he wants." I pause. "Aren't you coming, too?"

"You go ahead, and I'll be along a little later."

As I lead Nick into the house, I see him looking around, taking in the décor, though I doubt he's admiring what I've done with the place. We sit down in the study, and begin the not-so-subtle process of examining the other. Nick looks - well, I think _haggard_ is an appropriate term, like he hasn't slept or eaten properly since Amy disappeared, and since he has the media camping out on his front lawn, tracking his every move, this is only normal. Despite my initial reaction - intense dislike, and I'm sure the feeling's mutual, I feel a stab of pity for Nick. I haven't been coping well either, but if I start to lose it, I have privacy and don't have to worry about the entire country gloating on my way down.

It makes sense, now that I consider it, that Amy would ultimately wind up with someone who's dangerous, someone who can give her the constant jolt of adrenaline she seems to require, something that I consistently failed to deliver over the course of our relationship. A bad boy - the phrase is cliché, but it fits - not someone she had to constantly goad into breaking the rules.

As we discuss Amy, I think about all the puzzle pieces in this case - and those are just the ones I've heard about. I don't envy the detectives - or Nick - for having to untangle everything. Maybe this is something she's arranged for purposes known only to her. Amy was always amazing when it came to manipulating people. I know that sounds cold, especially in light of what's happened, and I really am concerned about her, but it's still true.

The problem is people aren't pieces in a game. At least, the results aren't going to be as benign when you start treating them like pawns.

That reminds me of (yet) another failure - that took place when I was around eight or nine.

_In a rare occasion of father-son bonding, my father decides to teach me chess. __He takes forever to arrange everything, so I try to hurry things along._

_"Why don't you give me the rules, and I'll read them, and then we can play."_

_"No, let me finish setting up first, and then I'll explain it to you."_

_I can't see why this is supposed to be so complex. __"It's the same game as checkers, though, right? Only with different pieces?"_

_"Well, it's a little more complicated than that."_

_"But it's played on the same board, and..."_

_"Damn it, Desi, will you stop interrupting me?"_

_Stung, I stare down at the board._

_"I don't want to do this anymore," I announce after a moment. "I've changed my mind."_

_My father pauses, dangling a black piece in his hand._

_"You want to quit? Fine. It's up to you."_

I didn't quit, but surprisingly enough, I never really got the hang of chess either. Amy, though, she would have been awesome at it.

I blink, trying to banish the memory and look at my visitor. The whole thing suddenly strikes me as even more ridiculous. I can offer my speculations about Amy all I want, but ultimately, I can't help Nick, and we both know it. So we sit there, and if there were cartoon bubbles over each of our head's, they would definitely say something like, "What in god's name, does Amy see in **him?"**

Mother chooses this moment to make her entrance. As I introduce them like this an ordinary social call (why don't I just offer Nick a drink while I'm at it, too?), I wonder what Amy has told him. ("And not only did he stalk me, but his mother was obsessed with me, too - she hated me.")

Apparently, he's overstayed his welcome because she hands him the card of our - I mean, my - lawyer, and informs him that the interview is over.

Nick just stares at her, as his fingers close around the card. Later he will probably think of cutting comebacks that he should have used, but right now, he is speechless. He looks at the card, Mother and me, in that order, then lets the card flutter to the carpet, before he turns and leaves.

_Checkmate_.

"Well, that went well," I say, after we hear the door close. "Baiting a murder suspect, Mother, I'm surprised at you." (Although I'm not, and we both know it.)

"Oh, he's harmless."

_Right. Amy's the dangerous one_.

"Did you hear that she told Nick that I tried to kill myself after we broke up?"

"Was this before or after you stalked her?" she asks, her tone venomous. I start to reply, but instead, I start feeling nauseous and close my eyes. _What's next - the Elliotts showing up demanding to know where I've stashed their precious daughter._

_"_Oh, I know you think I'm heartless, but believe me, it would be a lot easier to have sympathy for that girl if she hadn't dragged you into this whole sordid affair, too."

"When she was a teenager," I say, though part of me wonders why I'm bothering to defend her. After all, my mother had to deal with the first Amy Elliott affair. I'd probably feel the same way toward someone who had almost wrecked my child's future.

"Still old enough to know better. Look, I have to get going. You will be all right, won't you? Just promise me, you won't stay in all day and brood, okay?"

When she's finally gone, I go into the bathroom and pop two Excedrin (one for Nick, one for Mother) for the headache that's been threatening and sit back down.. Not to brood, (I have to get going pretty soon, too) but simply to take a moment to breathe.

Was this whole visit - even though it's probably farfetched - part of a scheme of Amy's, part of that treasure hunt or whatever it was that she designed for Nick? I don't honestly know - I was always a few steps behind Amy when we were dating, and I guess nothing's changed - only this time, it's Nick who has to deal with the ground always shifting. If she were here, though, I know Amy would have enjoyed watching the two of us - smiling and chatting, and all the while silently seething with hostility. She always did have a genius for setting up - as Mother put it - _awkward _situations and then witnessing the havoc.

_The same game only with different pieces_.

It's tempting to think of Amy somewhere watching everyone agonize over her disappearance while the rest of us struggle to figure out just what's going on, if only because it's preferable to picturing her bound and being tortured in some whackjob's basement somewhere.

If she does come back, though, I'd definitely appreciate some answers. Maybe she didn't know that a story she told at eighteen would come back to haunt me as an adult, but since it has, I'd really like to know why Amy took off, where she went and if she's ever coming back.

Apparently, I'm not the only one.


	4. Chapter 4

With each day, more and more details of the Amy Elliott Dunne case emerge, and it seems like with each one, the whole affair gets more and more sordid.

The treasure hunt that she set up for Nick for the anniversary - and the hunt that the detectives are attempting to conduct keep yielding clues, but how they fit together in the grand scheme of things is beyond me. A pair of panties in Nick's office. A diary, apparently Amy's. A lot of random pricey junk, including a robot dog (Seriously, why would anyone over the age of ten _want_ a robot dog in the first place?) that was discovered in Nick's sister's woodshed. Who, by the way, seems like a perfectly nice, normal woman (except to Ellen Abbott) and is probably just a pawn, too. Like me, and maybe even like Nick.

This whole thing is like "Law and Order: Special Victims Unit" by way of "The Twilight Zone." I don't envy the detectives, but I wish them luck (I hope persistence and good intentions are enough in this case because even in my brief meeting with them, it was apparent that Amy is a whole lot smarter. Which is not necessarily something to be ashamed of; there aren't many people in this world who are smarter than Amy Elliott.)

Still I'm starting to realize that I have to let this whole thing go, accept that Amy is probably dead or gone for good. I try to picture her, but all I get is a blank. For a few moments, I think I'm going to cry, which would be a relief, but instead I fall back asleep.

* * *

><p>I should have known better. Every time I make a resolution to put some distance between myself and this case, something happens to put me back in the midst. It seems I am going to become involved whether or not I want to. (God must have a really warped sense of humor.)<p>

Because the next morning I get a phone call.

From Amy.

I almost drop the phone in shock.

"Where did you get this number?" is what I blurt out first, because my first thought is that it's someone playing a sick joke.

"You gave it to me. Remember?" Like I'm being dense. Well, I did, but I'd forgotten - I can't remember the last time or even if she's ever used it.

"Amy? I thought you were dead," I blurt out. And she starts laughing, not like she's hysterical or anything, but like this is totally normal phone call.

(Come to think of it, Amy also has a warped sense of humor.)

She starts telling me a story about hiding out in the Ozarks where everything was going fine until she got robbed - and I still don't quite follow (probably because I'm still in shock that she's alive), but the gist is that she needs to see me, and she wants to meet at a casino. So I agree, and I admit it, part of me is flattered, but at the same time, I'm dreading this - because now, there's no way I'm not involved in this whole mess. But what else could I have done?

* * *

><p>On the way there, I'm trying to stay calm and not panic, but the truth is, I don't know what kind of shape Amy's in or what kind of help I can possibly provide. I do know - their voices keep echoing in my head - exactly what my family members would be advising me - which is, not to get involved. Or thinking that this is the perfect chance for some kind of revenge for humiliating me all those years ago, but people change, right? Anyway, it's too late to change my mind.<p>

So. Here's what happened

Here's what I spent years trying to forget or at least bury and succeeded. Until a few weeks ago.

_Tell the truth and the truth shall set you free, right? _

* * *

><p>When we're dating, Amy and I make plans to get together over a break, but my parents say no, not this time. I see this as unfair, but not entirely unexpected parental decree, but not something that is going to be an insurmountable obstacle in our relationship.<p>

But I am wrong.

When I tell her, Amy gives me a look, which I've since seen at one time or another on the face of every woman I've dated, which indicates that I have somehow disappointed her in a way that I can never fully hope to grasp and so my only chance at getting her forgiveness is to grovel.

"You promised."

"I didn't promise," I say like this is really going to make a difference. "I said _probably_."

Silence. _Yep, let the groveling begin_.

"Look this sucks, I know. I'm sorry. We'll have to do this another time."

I provide more details - we're hosting Thanksgiving this year; there's going to be a houseful of guests, but it's not having any effect.

"Can't your family get along without you for a day?"

"Apparently not."

I'm sensing that there's something bigger here at stake, but can't figure it out. And part of me doesn't want to bother. I've already apologized once, and I can't change my parents' minds, so what more can I do? Sneak my father's car out of the garage like I'm a character in a John Hughes' film and drive into the city? That's ridiculous.

"It's your mother, isn't it? She doesn't want you to see me, right?"

"No...none of this is aimed at you. Can you just leave my mother out of this?" (I would rather have a root canal than discuss Mother with Amy. Literally. Without anesthesia.)

But she doesn't listen; she keeps going.

'She's controlling and manipulative. She..."

I want to strangle Amy at this point. Figuratively speaking, that is.

I don't wait for her to finish.

"Then you two have a lot in common."

Silence. I can't believe I said that out loud. It's been kind of bubbling around in my head for awhile, but I've always managed to keep that to myself. Until now. Now I've really crossed the line and there's no going back. She's glaring daggers - _Don't you walk away from me_ - but I shrug and I do. It's a fatal mistake, but I won't find that out for another week.

* * *

><p>Fast forward a week later to when my mother arrives at the headmaster's office to discuss the "stalking" allegations, although it was phrased a little more diplomatically. I can tell that he's wondering where Mr. Collings is. I, too, am hoping she will tell us what happened to Mr. Collings, but she just apologizes without providing any explanation.<p>

When I force myself to stop wondering, and tune back in, he's saying something about how "we" take allegations like Miss Elliott's very seriously. Which I don't doubt this for a second. Also that whatever Amy said or did concerning me was an Oscar-worthy performance. (After all, I've had a front row seat to many of hers for the past year.) If the writing thing doesn't pan out, she'll always have a secure fallback as a professional actress.

"Of course, but I didn't raise my son - _any _of my other sons - to treat women this way. Besides, my son was home the entire time. With his family. And there were various relatives and other guests - that's why we wouldn't let him see Amy then in the first place."

True. Also true that her three _other_ sons, whatever rules they broke, were smart enough not to get caught.

"Besides, this is a girl who already has a habit of making rather serious allegations against her fellow students. She and my son had a disagreement before break, and she's doing this to get back at him."

I want to sink deeper into the chair and disappear. I shouldn't be surprised she's bringing this up, but I can't help wondering if it doesn't make her sound a little callous. After all, you look at a girl as pretty and wholesome as "Amazing" Amy, and you can't picture her doing anything so petty and cruel.

He remembers then that I'm in the room and turns to study me. I wonder what he's thinking, probably something like _absent father, overbearing mother, no wonder the boy's a basket base, _but at this point, if pity works, I'll take it.

"Is this true?" he asks me.

"Sort of. No, yes. We had an argument about what to do over break. That was the last time I saw her. I didn't stalk anybody."

"You see. He was home the entire time. Besides, there's no way our son could have snuck off without our realizing it."

My mother then points out that she's also familiar with the school rules, and she knows that boys aren't allowed to wander freely in and out of the girls' dorm. As she makes the case for the impossibility of my being in two places in once, I mentally cross my fingers. I'm not the angel she thinks I am, but I haven't done anything wrong. This time.

For whatever reasons - most likely, he knows he isn't getting out of there without at least admitting the possibility that I'm innocent, he lets me off by suggesting that I give Amy some "space," and I agree. In that moment, it dawns on me that I'm not just mortified and depressed and betrayed, I'm also angry, and that it really is better that I stay far, far away from Amy because if I do go near her, I'll just say more things I'll regret. Which would probably make what I said to her last seem like a compliment.

* * *

><p>Once outside, I blurt out the obvious question.<p>

"Your father doesn't know - I didn't think it was necessary," is what I get in reply.

Growing up, periodically I would sense that there was something, well, a little _off_, in the way my family did things, but seldom did I have such direct evidence, and I made the most of it.

"I'm about to be expelled, and you haven't told him? What, he thinks you're here for a social call?"

"I don't appreciate your tone." She sighs, and I think that the only way this could get any more embarrassing would be if we had an audience - but fortunately, no one's around, it's just us.

"Do you _want _me to tell your father? It's up to you."

Briefly, I wonder would happen - but it's a complete mystery. _Does he really under the illusion that he has four sons who never misbehave, __or does he just not care enough to investigate?_

I shake my head like a coward. No.

"And you're not going to be expelled. In just a few months, you'll be graduating, you'll be going to college, and you won't have to deal with this girl ever again."

(Why do adults always think that bringing up the future is a comforting thing. Because it's not - or is that just me?)

"Just please, promise me you'll be extra careful to stay away from Amy. That girl is dangerous."

I promised. And though I was down for a long time - I just couldn't accept fully that something that had meant so much to me meant apparently nothing to Amy, I eventually recovered. But no, not my finest hour, not a period in my life I'm eager to revisit, though for the record, I was never suicidal. But if I've matured, surely Amy has, too. (From her letters, she appears to be a

If I "learned something" from that experience, it was that the opposite sex is fully of hidden landmines and must be handled very, very carefully.

Also that when you are in desperate need of help that you can't cherry pick the help, you have to accept whatever you're given.

Two very valuable lessons, if you ask me.

* * *

><p>The casino is crowded, noisy and strikes me as the perfect place for Amy to get noticed - but then I don't recognize her at first (she's dyed her hair and gained weight), so maybe that's not going to be an issue. We order drinks, and she starts telling me a long, convoluted story about Nick, the treasure hunt, the cabin in the Ozarks where she's been hiding out, getting robbed, her trust fund, etc. - and although I don't quite get everything, I get the gist - that she's broke and needs immediate help. So I offer her various things - money, legal counsel (even Nick has lawyered up by this point), whatever, but finally realize that what she really needs at the moment is a place to stay. So I persuade her to come back to the lake house where she can stay and recover until she's ready to come forward with her story. (At least, that was originally the plan.<p>

Once there (I'm probably a little drunk at this point) I go around the house showing off each and every last feature like the world's most annoying bellhop. Forget sarcasm, when I'm really stressed, I tend to babble. At one point, I even suggest that we should take a trip abroad because at the time, it makes perfect sense and of course, we're both going to be able to leave the country without any hassle. Later, however, once sober, I realize that this is a lovely idea, but we really need to be practical.

Of course, what I should have done was driven her directly to a hospital or the police station. Hindsight is a wonderful thing.

But I didn't.


	5. Chapter 5

_Chapter Five_

I'm hiding Amazing Amy in my lake house. Harboring a fugitive, obstructing justice, whatever you want to call it. Now I have no choice but to come forward voluntarily when the right time comes. If I don't, I suspect there would be absolutely no more kid gloved, _thank you for your time, Mr. Collings _treatment by the authorities. (Wealth will cushion you only so far in a murder/kidnapping investigation.)

Apparently, Amy's been hiding incognito in a cabin in the wilderness somewhere. She was doing okay on her own, until she wound up getting robbed by a couple of rednecks and running out of money. (At least that was her story yesterday.) Which explains why she chose to call me.

That she finally ran into trouble she couldn't handle doesn't really surprise me. Amy may be an awesome actress, but she's (as far as I know) never experienced that kind of lifestyle. Like me, she's far more used to a world where people describe all sorts of truly awful situations as "awkward," where people never have fights, only disagreements and where people never do anything as crude as actually beat each other up, (though we might hand them the card of our lawyer, instead.)

But for now, she has a safe place to stay.

I wake up that first morning, and it still hasn't sunk in. On the drive over, I keep waiting for it, too, but it doesn't. What if the whole thing last night was a dream? But when I finally reach the lake house and go inside and start putting groceries away in the fridge, it finally hits me. The trouble I'm already in and the trouble to come. What my family is going to think. It's not that if I had to go back and do the whole thing over, I'd choose differently, but I really wish I hadn't had to choose at all.

She comes in behind me, making me jump. "Jeez, why didn't you knock or something first? I thought you were a burglar."

_What for? It's my house_, I think. I've never been a morning person, and I forgot that Amy is. It's odd all the things about her that have slipped my mind, when at one time, I was convinced there was nothing about her I would ever forget.

Of course, I was also a lot younger then.

"I didn't want to wake you up. So how did you sleep?"

"Like a baby."

_Good. Maybe that's all she needs, just a few days to rest, and then we can both go to the authorities and get this whole thing over with. As much as I want to be there for her, and all, I can see the commute getting wearing._

"It's very quiet here."

True. That's what I like about it, although if I had to stay here alone indefinitely, I'd be climbing the walls from boredom after a couple of days. That's also why I figure it won't take Amy long before she's ready to leave, too.

"Your mother isn't going to come around here, is she?"

I should have known this would come up. Maybe it's better to get it out of the way first.

"She doesn't have the code, and she wouldn't show up here uninvited anyway, Amy." _Because she has better things to do_.

"What about maintenance men? Lawn crew, that kind of thing?"

"No. No maintenance men. The only one who'll drop by will be me." I smile; she doesn't. "And I don't want you to worry about anything."

"Well, what about when I'm ready to go..."

_Great_. I clutch my takeout coffee and try not to panic. I really don't want to get into this now. I have a strong feeling that it's going to take more than a grande latte to successfully negotiate this.

"We don't have to talk about this now, if..."

"No, I want to know how long I can stay before you kick me out."

She says it like she's joking, but I suspect she's really worried.

"Well...like I said yesterday. As long as you want. Until you feel ready to come forward, and then," I take a breath and plunge on, already sensing this isn't going to sit well, "we can go together."

Sure enough, "Why would you have to be involved with all this at that point?"

_She has to be messing with me; there's no way she could be that dense. _"Because," I say, "I imagine the detectives will want to hear my version of things. Again."

"What do you mean - again?"

"The detectives on this...case seemed to think that I might have kidnapped you. So they questioned me."

If Amy is faking astonishment, she's awfully convincing.

"Why in the world would they think that? We're _friends."_

(Was it my imagination, or did she say that awfully emphatically?)

"True, but somehow, somewhere, they got the idea that I might still be obsessed with you - considering how I stalked you at boarding school. Any ideas how they might have gotten that impression?" I consider bringing up Nick's visit but decide not to.

"Can you just stop...shouting at me, please?"

_Right. She's been through hell and back, and you are being horrible to her. _"It's just I didn't think that," I can't think of the word - lie? story? allegation? They all seem too inaccurate or too insensitive. "It's just that I hadn't thought about that in years - you didn't bring it up when you started writing to me, so I decided not to either, and then I was ambushed by it when the police called me in." This isn't really fair, though, but I'm still upset. "I mean, even the idea that they would think that I'd hurt you is..."

"I get that, but it was probably my parents who told them that."

Maybe it isn't really fair to still be angry at her after all this time, but I can't help it. "I know."

"And I appreciated that you never brought it up again. I guess I just felt too ashamed to say anything."

This is one of those moments where I feel like the rug's been pulled out from under me- so common when I was with Amy, and I find that I'm as poorly prepared for it than I ever was.

"You...are?"

"Why do you sound so surprised? Of _course_. It was a stupid thing to do."

In my fantasies, I've expected this moment to feel vindicated, triumphant, but all I feel is - nothing.

I take a sip of forgotten coffee. It's ice cold.

"Okay. I promise I won't mention this ever again. But before that, could you please tell me _why _you did that? What happened to just telling me that you wanted some space or well, whatever."

"Because you would have _begged_ me to stay. You would have looked at me with those puppy dog eyes, and I would have felt so guilty."

The truth doesn't just sting, it scalds. But I don't argue. After all, I asked for it.

After a minute, I decide to get everything out and tell her that Nick paid me a visit. "I doubt he'll be back, I just thought I should let you know."

"What did he do when he came?"

"Nothing much. We chatted for awhile, and then he left." I omit exactly how and who else was present at the time.

"That's so sweet."

And she means it, there's not a trace of irony.

"Well, that's one way to put it," I say carefully.

"Was he really angry?"

"No, he just seemed kind of lost," I tell her.

_Please don't tell me she doesn't still have feelings for him. Whatever we are - or aren't - she can't possibly go back to him after this._

"Look, if he comes around here, promise me, you won't let him in. The security cameras at the entrance will record him, and the cops can arrest him for trespassing. Which will be the least of his problems. Okay?"

She agrees, but something makes me suspect that she isn't telling me everything.

Of course, that's par for the course with Amy.

* * *

><p>Somewhere in the middle of week two, we have our first disagreement. Over junk food of all things, to which Amy has apparently become addicted, but I'm sorry, I can't stand the smell. She accused me of morphing into my father who wouldn't let anyone eat junk food in the car or the house. That's the problem with having a houseguest who knows your entire backstory when you were younger. Having Amy here is like looking into a really unflattering mirror a lot of the time.<p>

But I'd much rather turn into my father than the average American (in case, she hasn't noticed, there's a major obesity problem in this country).

Besides, it's my house, so it's not unreasonable that I get to make a few rules now and then.

Besides, all Amy has been doing is making herself at home (which I admit, I told her to) taking advantage of the gym, the Jacuzzi, the Wii-Fi, etc., while I've been cooking, cleaning and shopping for her (there's no way I can hire a housekeeper), not to mention lying to Mother about why I seem so "distracted" lately.

Not to mention listening to her complain about Nick - she'll get going, but then all of a sudden, start defending him. The sooner she's away from him for good, the better.

But I've been making all this sound like a real drag, but it's actually not. Most of the time. As long as I don't allude to or bring directly up what's going to happen after she leaves. That's somewhere we haven't gone again since her first full day here. And knowing me, when she does leave, I'll probably miss her a lot more than I expect. Just one of the many enigmas of Amy.

* * *

><p>The thing is - and it's as true as it was when we first met - that I never quite know which Amy I'm going to get each time I see her. There seems to be an inexhaustible supply of them in there. A couple weeks later, (whe, my father comes up again in the conversation), she's Attentive Amy. It's a weekend, and it's pouring out When I put down the takeout sushi and her other stuff, she tells me that I'm a lifesaver, and for a moment, I get the feeling that we're actually husband and wife.<p>

_No. She's being friendly because that's. What. Friends. Do._

When I'm hanging up my coat and my back's to her, I take a surreptitious whiff, but there's nothing, not a hint of junk food. Good.

After we eat, we play Scrabble. Yes, this is lame, but it's the only thing she agrees to do when I offer it, half as a joke. So I dig out the board, and we choose our tiles. Then she asks me when the last time I played was. With my nephew last summer, I tell her, on a day like this one when it was too rainy to go swimming or sailing.

"Am I faster than him?" she asks after we play for awhile. (Amy was always extremely competitive.)

"I'd say so. He's only seven. But he's very precocious."

"Seven? Why in the world, didn't you play something easier?"

_Like chess, _I think.

"...like Candyland?"

_Candyland? Is that even a real game?_

"I've never played - and anyway, it sounds incredibly inane," I say.

"Well, not if you're a little kid."

_True. _

"I hope you at least let your nephew win," she says after putting down her word.

"He told me not to let him."

(This whole business of having kids? It scares me, if I'm totally honest. Not only is there are so many ways you can screw up a kid's life, but there's just so much stuff Who knew, for instance, that there was actually a game called _Candyland_?)

"So," she asks, "how _are_ your brothers?"

"Fine. They're all have their own families now." Since she's only seen them a couple of times, I figure this is simply random conversation.

"Do you see them often?"

_Is she still worried about someone showing up unannounced. Or is she simply making conversation. _"They live at least an hour away, and anyway,I probably won't even see them until the holidays. They have their own families."

"So what's stopping you?"

"Nothing," I stammer, taken aback. "I just haven't met the right woman yet."

"Do you ever think that maybe you're just too choosy?"

_About the woman I'm going to spend the rest of my life with? I don't think so._

"Nick and his sister have all these retro board games at the bar. _Life, Memory, _that kind of thing."

I really don't want to talk about Nick but figure I don't have a choice in the matter.

"So was it Nick's lifelong ambition to own a bar?"

Amy shoots me a pointed look. "He's a _writer_. We moved here because he lost his job."

_Note to self: In future, avoid all mention of Nick's career trajectory. _

"I only asked," I backpedal, "because living in Missouri and doing that doesn't seem at all like something you'd want to do."

"It wasn't, but then Nick's mother got cancer, and then his father got Alzheimer's."

"That must be rough.

It seems to be my day to feel sorry for Nick, even though I don't want to. can't condone it, but now the domestic abuse starts to make more sense than it previously did. Whoever said that God only gives you as much as you can handle, clearly never met the Dunnes.

"So why are _you _living here?"

_What is this - board game therapy or something? _

"My father died. So I moved back to be closer to...my family." I wait, bracing myself. When this comes up, people - women especially - expect me to feel all these major emotions, but as a rule, I don't. If I feel anything right now, it's embarrassed to have brought it up - compared to Nick, my issues are minor, if not non-existent.

"I'm really sorry, Desi."

"It's okay."

"So that's why you're living here. I wondered about that. If I remember right, you used to want to live in Europe when you were grown."

_Thank god, you never told anyone _that. But simply dropping a little incriminating evidence was never Amy's style. With her, revenge has to be elaborate and complex.

"What are you thinking?"

What I'm thinking is that the letters we exchanged as adults apparently weren't worth the paper they were written on. Amy was simply doing the same thing I had - pretending to

"What about _your _parents?" I say after a minute. "Don't you want to let them know you're all right?"

My first thought is that she's exaggerating, but knowing Amy's parents, you never know. "That's...horrible."

"I know. So you can see why I'm not ready to contact them. And what do you think they'd do once I told them I was fine?"

"Besides write another book?" I blurt, and then before I can apologize (using too much stress and too little sleep as an excuse), she starts laughing, even though it's not really all that funny (I guess the stress is getting to her, too). "Amazing Amy and the Secret of the Lake House," I say, though I'm thinking that when this over, she really should write a memoir.

"Sheesh," she says, mimicking the books, "Running away was fun and all, but I've learned my lesson about avoiding responsibility."

Then I realize it's my turn again. Since all the U's (all four of them) have been played, I put down a Q and a T on either side of a free A and wait, in case, she wants to challenge me.

Sure enough, she does.

"What are you doing - '_qat_' is not a real word, and if you expect to believe that, you're crazy."

"It's a narcotic." I point to the bookcase. "There's a dictionary, if you don't believe me."

"Fine. But aren't you getting a little bored with this?"

"Do you have a better idea then?"

All of a sudden, she's on my side of the board, running her fingers through my hair.

"Amy, please, I'm trying to concentrate."

"You aren't attracted to me. I've been working out in that gym of yours, and you haven't even noticed."

And I thought she was mostly doing that from boredom. I would have in her place.

"That's not true," I stammer because her hands are moving downward.

It was never about lack of attraction. Or (mostly) getting caught. The elephant in the room had been her father. Nowadays, I could get advice anonymously online about how to proceed with a girl who's been molested, but that wasn't an option back then. And now it's Nick.

"I don't usually sleep with married women," is what I come up with next.

"But Nick cheated on _me_."

_So what - two wrongs make a right? _But I know better than to expect Amy to think things like that. She just doesn't - for whatever reason. Sometimes, it appalls me. Other times, it just makes me envious.

"Trust me, you're not doing anything I don't already want to do."

Amy could always read me like a book. Most people, as a rule, don't even make it past the title page.

"You think too much," she's saying next. "You don't need to over-analyze everything, you know."

_She's right. I do. And I don't._

I'll leave what happens next up to the imagination.

Suffice to say it was a lot different from the last time I finished playing Scrabble.


	6. Chapter 6

I am such an idiot.

Playing Scrabble with another man's wife - I'm sure that's harmless.

Hiding her in your lake house - probably borderline.

Adultery? That I'm pretty sure it's a sin, if you were raised to believe in that sort of thing.

Goodbye insomnia; hello nightmares.

That night, I dream that I am being interrogated by Ellen Abbott.

"Let's be honest, Mr. Collings. You let Amy stay in your lake home because you really wanted the chance to play the hero."

"Look. _She _called _me._ Up until that point, I had no idea where she was. I actually thought she was dead."

"Still, you leapt at the chance to rescue her, didn't you? The fact is, Mr. Collings, that there was a lot more than just sushi and Scrabble games going on in that lake house of yours, wasn't there? The fact _is_ that you're just one in a long line of men who _took advantage _of this poor abused girl. You _stalked _her in high school, didn't you? And you couldn't wait to do it _again._!"

"That's a vicious lie. I was her _boyfriend_- there's a huge difference."

"So you claim, but you seem awfully..._defensive _for someone who's supposedly innocent and has nothing but pure motives."

In my waking hours, I'm sure I'd fumble this one, and she'd shred me the way she did Nick, but here I'm unruffled.

"Well, let's examine this logically. You've just been robbed and need a safe place to stay. Are you really going to call up the guy who made your life hell when you were younger? Why would you even have his phone number - and if you didn't, why would you bother to track it down? Much less choose to write letters to him, which, by the way, Amy also did for the past couple of years?"

"So you _were _stalking her!"

"Feel free to read them - I guarantee you, they're completely boring."

Brief but definite silence. Then: "Maybe, but you're still not being honest. You _talked_ a good game about _trust_, but the _truth _is that you didn't trust Amy not to run off behind your back, now didn't you?"

In the movies, I'd bolt up, all sweaty and panicked, but what happens is this just morphs into another dream, (at least that's the only part I remember), and I don't wake up until morning. Later, it occurs to me that whoever scripted the dream (my unconscious?) was awfully flattering. In reality, Ellen Abbott would hardly have been silenced, even temporarily, by anything I could say, (much less be courteous enough not to call me by my first name), but in the context of the dream, it makes perfect sense.

However, I have to admit Dream Ellen Abbott hit home with her final comment. I _don't _trust Amy not to vanish without telling me. It's not something I try to dwell on, but I have to admit, every time I walk into the house, and she's still there, I feel a rush of relief. She's usually hyper-organized when it comes to carrying out her plans, but considering what she's been through, she's not in the most balanced state of mind, so if she did decide to leave on the spur of the moment when I'm not there, it wouldn't come as a surprise.

I guess the best thing to do is just take it one day at a time. For now.

* * *

><p>Later on that day, my oldest brother calls to see how I'm doing. Though I know he means well, I can't help being short with him - after all,- I'm a murder suspect and my ex-girlfriend is missing (at least officially), how does he think I'm doing?<p>

"Come on, you know they took one look at you and saw that you didn't do it. I'm sure they've forgotten all about you at this point."

_He doesn't know. He's only calling to talk. Stop being so paranoid and try to act normal._

"Not that you wouldn't have had a really good motive."

(My brother has always underestimated me. Or in this case, should I say _overestimated_?

"I wouldn't do anything to Amy. Ever."

"I know, calm down. Still, I can why you're stressed right now. This is definitely the most bizarre thing that's ever happened in our family."

_Might as well take the opportunity to ask, since it's come up._

"Do you ever think that there's something uniquely weird about our family?"

"No, why?"

"No reason...Do you ever think that Mother will ever have to borrow from our trust funds?"

"I doubt it. Seriously, Desi, what's with all these weird questions? You _must _be stressed."

I don't respond, so he tries a different subject.

"So who's this mystery woman you're seeing?"

_How nice that my life is an open book_. "Did Mother tell you to call and pump me?"

"No, and even if she did, I wouldn't. You're thirty-one."

"Thirty-two."

"Whatever, the point is you're allowed to have a private life. One that's actually private."

That just makes me feel guilty. If he only knew.

"...but she's convinced you're seeing someone. She says you've been 'preoccupied' lately."

Still I decide to get this over with. "I hate to break it to you, but there's no mystery woman. I'm not seeing anyone new."

"Fine with me. Really, I envy you. Don't be in a hurry to get married. You'll just be miserable like the rest of us."

I assume he's joking, but there's a note of sincerity that bothers me.

"So that's what marriage is - a lot of misery?" I ask.

"Of course not, I was only joking. And don't worry about the cops. Everyone knows that Nick did it. Have you seen that guy on TV? What a prick."

"Well...anything's possible."

I hang up, proud of the fact that I haven't actually said anything that's untrue, but still worried. _I have to find a way to convince Amy to come forward soon. Pretty sure, someone's going to notice. It's not like we can hide this forever._

Driving over to the lake house, it occurs to me that I should have tried to probe into what's going in my brother's marriage, but right now, I don't have the energy to pursue it. Thinking of him, though, brings up another memory of a movie that has, for various reasons, been on my mind lately. When I was around ten or eleven, and my oldest brother was seventeen, one day when our parents were away, he drove to the video store (pre-Netflick era) and rented _Risky Business. _And after making me swear several times that I wouldn't tell, let me see it, too.

_Risky Business _is the story of an upper-crust, uptight high school senior, played by Tom Cruise, whose parents go away for the week. His friends persuade him that he really needs to get laid, and so he hires a call girl, played by Rebecca DeMornay, who refuses to leave the next morning. (Probably because she takes one look at his house and realizes that his parents are loaded.) The movie then shifts into a series of wacky high jinks, in which she involves him in a high speed car chase with her "manager," pushes his car into Lake Michigan (he's being too judgmental), arranges to have the house robbed, and convinces him to run a brothel in his parents' home on the night of his Princeton interview. And expresses remorse for none of it. Still, it manages to work out in the end. Cruise gets into his first choice school, they decide to stay together and collaborate on further business projects. Whether or not they love each other in a clichéd teen movie way is besides the point.

It was the first time, I'd gotten the impression that teen movie girls were willing to bypass the usual romantic gestures - escorting them to the prom, showing up on their birthday in a sports car with a birthday cake, etc. and skip directly to the sex, and after that, adventure.

Also, that there might be a connection between extremely hot and highly unstable.

Not that I just accepted all this at face value. After all, it was a _movie. _But the seeds had been planted, nonetheless.

* * *

><p>Amy greets me at the door all excited.<p>

"Nick's going to be on TV!"

"I heard. We can watch it together."

"Oh, that's all right. I'm a big girl. It's not going to traumatize me or anything."

"I know," I lie. "But since I'm free then, we might as well."

"Fine. Whatever."

She's not too thrilled, but at least, she hasn't objected. Might as well, plunge on and cross my fingers that her reasonable mood will last.

"Amy, about yesterday - I think maybe we need to take this slow from now on. For now, that's all. Just so we don't make this whole thing even more complicated."

Wide blue-eyed gaze. "Desi, I agree completely."

I feel idiotic - why did I imagine that this part would be awkward. "Right, there will be plenty of time later. Once all the commotion dies down, and you file for divorce, and..."

"Wait, who said anything about_ divorce_?"

"Isn't that the logical next step?" I stammer. Talk about one of those 180 degree turns. Yesterday, she was undressing me before we'd even finished the Scrabble game; and today, she wants to go back to a guy who may not be a murderer, but who is, to quote my brother, a real prick. What she'll decide on tomorrow, I've no idea. I'm not sure Amy knows herself.

"No. I'm not getting a divorce."

I take a deep breath. "Is it the money?" I ask as carefully as possible.

"It's not the money."

Which can mean only one thing - that she _wants _to stay with him.

OK, I'm hardly in a position to give anyone marital advice, but somehow, I don't quite see how this is going to work, even if she doesn't tell him about our little indiscretion. I try to imagine how their reunion conversation will go. Something like: _"So after you tried to frame me for murder and ran off, you hid out in the Ozarks and then stayed at Desi's for a month? Well, all right, honey, as long as you promise not to do it again."_

No, I can't quite see that working, but it's not like I can stop her either, if that's what she wants to do.

"Say something."

"Well, Amy, I think it's a really...bad idea. But it's up to you. It's your life."

And when she turns away from me, I notice something disturbing.

"Amy?" I ask. "What did you do to your arm?"

"I told you that's where Nick tried to..."

_Quick, block the digression into Nick._

"No, I meant your wrist...it's all chafed."

"It's fine," she snaps. "Don't _hover _so much, Desi. I'm not one of your problem girlfriends."

_Right,_ _but you were once._ I take another deep breath.

"My brother called today. He - my whole family's convinced that something's up with me. Don't worry, I haven't told them anything. But I think we're reaching the point where other people might start to notice. Care one way or the other, I doubt it. But notice, yes."

"You really worry too much over what other people think."

_True, I thin_k, _but maybe if you cared a little more you wouldn't be in this mess. _

"So what, you're just going to turn me in, to protect your reputation?"

_Haven't we already discussed this_? "You can walk out that door today, if you want. You're not under...house arrest. But when you do, I'm going with you."

"What if I just leave on my own? What are you going to do about it then?"

Deep breath. "Then I'll have no choice but to go to the police on my own. What else am I going to do? You can't just keep running away. Could you maybe, just once, try to see things from _my _perspective? If you left when I wasn't here, how would I know that Nick hasn't...coerced you into leaving?"

"He would never do that! Nick isn't like you, Desi. He doesn't obsess over every last little detail of my life. He isn't a control freak like you are."

_Now she's defending the same behavior that she was complaining about. She's delusional._

And that's when it hits me, in one of those cartoon "ah hah" moments.

Amy's not the only one who's "delusional" here.

She's got company.

She needs some kind of help that I can't give her and that she probably wouldn't take even if I could. I keep judging her for not knowing what she wants, but I can't say that I know really what _I_ want after this is over. Well, I do, but somehow I don't think it's going to happen. So maybe I should start thinking about alternatives.

Because our romantic getaway trip abroad? Probably not such a workable plan. Given that we can't seem to get through a single visit without a - _say it, use the word_ - _fight, _what are the odds that we'd make it through the trip still on speaking terms? Not to mention that if she's determined to make it work with Nick, that's a moot point anyway

Right. So neither of us is helping the other anymore by staying here bickering. We're only making things worse

What comes out of my mouth next surprises me.

"You're right, this is all about control."

(For the second time in our history, I've managed to surprise her.)

"There are two sides to every story. And this time, I'd like the chance to tell mine."

Stony silence. I plunge on.

"OK, tomorrow we'll watch Nick. And then we'll decide what our next step is. All right?"

I stop myself from adding that I'm only doing this because I care about her. First, because she won't believe me, and second, because at this point, I'm not sure I'd believe me either.

"Amy, could you please just tell me what it is that you want me to do?" I finally ask. _ Besides give me the silent treatment._

"I want you to _go_."

This makes me want to stay, just to prove that's it's my house, but that would be childish. And controlling. But if I go, doesn't it prove that I can be manipulated? For the umpteenth time, frustration rises before I give up.

_Yes. Pretty sure, this is the epitome of a no-win situation. Time to exit._

"Then I'll see you tomorrow."

No response.

At times like these, I swear she and Nick deserve each other.

* * *

><p>When all this is over, I may be remembered as just another guy who took advantage of the Amazing Amy Elliott. (Thank you, Dream Ellen Abbott.) When it comes to the court of public opinion, you really don't have much control over your image.<p>

If I had the choice, I'd prefer to be remembered as a footnote in this case. Unlike Amy, I don't crave the spotlight. And if I have to be there, I'd prefer it to be for another reason than having hid a celebrity for a month, while everyone ran around and worried about where she was.

But I don't blame Amy. As the saying goes _Fool me once, shame on you; fool me twice, shame on me. _Which is to say, if I feel sorry for anyone at this point, it's the younger version of me, the teenager who thinks that a major miracle has just occurred when Amy notices him, that falling in love is going to be (more or less) like a Hollywood movie, where you walk around holding hands and making out a lot while "Walking On Sunshine" blasts away on the soundtrack. He's seen his parents argue, but dismisses that, believing that simply deciding not to be like someone is enough to ensure that it doesn't happen. He doesn't realize that relationships, once you're past the initial rosy stage, take work, the same tedious work that being good at most things takes. He has no idea what he's in for.

So, I'll take this one step at a time. Tomorrow, when I come over, we'll watch Nick grovel on TV and then (hopefully), decide to end this chapter of the Amazing Amy saga reasonably, by coming forward together. And then I'll figure out a way to deal with the fallout.

It would be tempting to think that after all this time, I know Amy, but all the past few weeks have done is made it clear is that even if I know her better than most people that's still not very well at all.

It would be tempting, if I were really as manipulative and controlling as she claims, to start wondering what I can do tomorrow to make her see reason and finally go to the authorities.

But as I know all too well, no one can "make" Amy do anything.

* * *

><p>* Desi's' account ends here.<p> 


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